


We Dream of Stardust

by LiaLox



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Crystal!Prompto, Friendship, Gen, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaLox/pseuds/LiaLox
Summary: A continuation of "Near Life Experiences" by invisibledeity."After months of persuasion, Noctis is finally seeking help for the mental issues he's having as a result of the Crystal's magic. Prompto's always been Noct's lifeline, his support, but as Noctis starts to improve, it's Prompto who begins to crack at the seams."Strength comes in all forms.





	We Dream of Stardust

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Near Life Experience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13459905) by [invisibledeity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity). 



> I loved invisibledeity's AU so much that I wrote more about it (with their permission of course)
> 
> Please read it before you read this, as this fic is basically like a "chapter 2" to the original one shot:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/13459905
> 
> Trust me, it's good. C: So good that I went and wrote a 3k+ story for it.

Continued from: [Near Life Experiences](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13459905)

 

…After hours of silence, Prompto’s cries had simmered down into hopeless prayers, the kind spoken not because he believed they would come to pass, but because he had run out of all other options. 

“I wanna be with you, Noct. Please, don’t leave me.” 

It’s the last thing he’s able to muster before the world becomes skewed and his thoughts drip like honey. They form slowly. Sticking to one another and dragging out the next until they pool into tangled memories before smoothing into sense.

 

_H_

_u_

_m                                  a_

_n_

_s_

_H_

_u       m   a ns are so easily shaped by the passage of time. Yet, no matter how great the change, they must have a beginning. The newborn heart of a child, with innate characteristics ingrained to the core. Pure. Unchanging. That alone, even the gods could not alter._

_This child—too fearless and stubborn to be swayed by those above his station wanders into the chambers. Entranced, yet wise enough to stay a distance. Only look, for the light will burn._

_Compassionate beyond measure, to his own kind and to those who are not. Contemplative. Resourceful. A budding will that surpasses those of his line._

_Yes._

_This one will do._

Prompto snapped back to reality—or what seemed like it, to see Noctis reaching out to him from the confines of the Keep. His best friend looks so tired and beaten, but he’s too weak to try to reach back. He wants to pull him closer, to hold him. He can’t. Worry washes over, and it’s the emotion that pulls another fantasy to surface.

_“ **Chosen**.” _

_The child screams. Bandaged wounds inflicted on his back tear open anew as nails dig into black hair in an attempt to get the voice in his head out. Fear laces the child’s mind._

_Visions surge again, flipping fast as if searching—searching for—there! Images the child perceives as safe. Soft blankets. Picture books read by a father. Round cats. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a warm smile. White palace walls. Healing—_  

Prompto has to focus on the restraints around him to keep himself from being washed away by the memories that flooded over him. He feels himself strain against the chains digging into his flesh—no, the cuffs at his wrists, and the pain makes him stay sober. 

_The child sees the proxy out of the corner of his eye too many times. Male, of the same age but with the features of the Oracle. A soft, plush form that’s so unlike the mechanical soldiers and daemons that have caused him pain. The proxy serves only to examine the child’s state. The child seems to expect more, but the proxy cannot oblige._

_It’s only a shell._  

“Gods,” Prompto pleaded, unsure if he even spoke through the torrent of his mind. Is this what happens when he gets pulled away from Noctis for too long? His stomach churned as he felt something within pull apart. He feels like puking. If he was only an illusion, why can’t he pass through these restraints like a mirage and run to Noctis? 

_Humans change. Always. The qualities once vibrant in the young King are now suppressed. As though a ghost was weighing down upon the child’s potential. Terrorizing in a way only the child could see, and oh, how futile it is to fight an intangible foe without an intangible blade. Very well. So shall it be._

_Something suitable had already formed in the child’s mind. It only need be applied._

_“Hey there, Prince Noctis! I’m Prompto. Nice to meet you!”_

Prompto doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want to. The storm of thoughts shouldn’t belong to him, and if they did that would only mean the slimy excuse for a Chancellor was right.

_“Oh, you finally thought to ask? Well, perhaps it is time I reveal to you my true name.”_

_The Accursed flourished, removing his hat and bowing deeply._

_“Ardyn Lucis Caelum,” He said, with black staining his features. “And_ you _are the voice that can only be heard by the Kings of Lucis.”_

 

* * *

 

When Prompto becomes aware of himself again, his ears are ringing. It numbs to silence as his surroundings come to focus. The churning of his stomach hasn’t stopped. He’s standing in an empty hallway with modern wallpaper and a flat box between his hands. It smells good.

So good, that when Prompto opens the box, he considers it the most jarring thing he’s seen all week. Considering the theme of _things-going-on-this-week_ , at least. 

It’s pizza. And he’s standing in the hallway to Noctis’ apartment.

What the fuck. 

“Why am I—“ Prompto starts questioning himself until he remembers that there was only one instance where he brought pizza to Noctis’ apartment. There was a day where Noctis was really sick and couldn’t go to school. He’d come over with pizza and played video games until they both passed out. In hindsight, it was a terrible way to treat someone sick but it was also one of the funnest nights they ever had.

Being here in this instance meant one of the following:

  * He’s in the past. Umbra?
  * The afterlife looks a lot like Noctis’ apartment.
  * He’s still in the Keep and hallucinating madly.



Any magical dogs around? Prompto looked behind him, just in case.

Nope.

But whether or not Noctis can even eat a hypothetical, imaginary slice of pizza, Prompto doesn’t know. But what he does know is that, unless he steps into that room, Noctis is going to spend this day alone and sick. There’s only one way to find out.

He finds Noctis’ door and knocks.

“N-Noct!” Prompto’s voice trembled, but he forced himself to relax. “I brought pizza!”

There’s a rush of steps, and when that door opens, he never finds out if Noctis could even eat that imaginary pizza because he drops it as his best friend crushes him into the most desperate hug he’s ever had.

“You’re okay,” Noctis gasped. His fingers are trembling into the fabric of his shirt. “Oh gods, Prompto. You’re okay. I’m sorry.” There are wet spots appearing where Noctis pressed his face on his chest. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t, didn’t want to leave you but, but I—but they—" 

Oh. _Oh_.

Leave it to Prompto to fail a multiple-choice test created himself. The answer is “none of the above”. He can’t be dead or dreaming, if Noctis is here. Unless he’s hallucinating the one who hallucinated him? Or is Noctis the one who’s hallucinating, and he’s just a part of it?

“Hey, _hey_ ,” Prompto tried to calm him. No matter what’s happened, Noctis comes first. He’ll figure things out later. “Buddy. You okay?”

Noctis doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls away from him and looks at his face like he’s trying to count the number of freckles on them.

The dark circles and troubled eyes makes Noctis truly look like a prince of _insomnia_.

“Yeah. Yeah, I—“ He stammers, and stops when a figure turns into the hallway. It makes Prompto’s heart twist when he realizes why his best friend stiffens in the presence of other people. Noctis has to pretend _he_ isn’t there.

Seeing the man approach made Prompto raise an eyebrow. If this was the past, no-one ever showed up to sick-pizza day. “What’s Ignis doing here?”

The question was meant for Noctis, but the world seemed too intent on blindsiding him in every possible way.

“You were the one who informed me of Noct’s illness,” Ignis replied, eyeing the wasted pizza on the floor. “Somehow I knew you’d be making things worse for each other.”

Noctis’ jaw _dropped_. He’s stopped crying, only for the emotion to be replaced by complete and utter shock.

Prompto probably had the same expression on his face, since this might be the first time Ignis actually replied back to something he said.

“Your highness,” Ignis sighed, as he pulled—like _physically_ pulled Prompto closer to press a hand to his forehead. “How many times must I tell you not to invite Prompto over when you’re sick? You and I both know he has poor self-control and… ah, as I suspected. He’s rather warm.”

Ignis shot Noctis a look before turning to Prompto. “You needn’t worry about medication expenses; I doubt Noct will finish the entire bottle by himself by the time it expires. How are you feeling?” 

“Uh,” Prompto said, intelligently. “My stomach’s been doing flips and, um, I’m a little dizzy?” 

It’s the honest truth, but still. What the hell?

Noctis is still frozen in his position, until Ignis ushers him back into his room, with Prompto locking the door behind them. He’s never felt the need to really touch things in Noct’s house, just because it’s his personal space and he doesn’t want to mess things up. So he tests it—his validity in the world, by placing his foot on the pedal of the trash bin and tossing out the remnants of the pizza. The weight of it sinks into the plastic. It’s… normal.

The conversation from the other room ends with something along the lines of being delirious with fever. Ignis comes back, checks his temperature, and offers him a glass of water alongside a carefully measured medicine cup.

It feels good, having someone take care of him. 

If this was a dream, or a hallucination, Prompto doesn’t want it to end.

And it doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Prompto stayed over that night.

Noctis plastered on some sense of normalcy, like he’s been doing it for a lifetime. It made Prompto feel sick all over again. With his best friend on the edge of calm, he didn’t have it in him to bring up the Keep.

Then Ignis drove him home— _home_ , the next day. It’s a small apartment he swears he’s never seen before, but somehow knew where the forks were kept, which door led to which room and when the milk in the fridge would expire. 

If this is a world where he was real, then that would mean…

Heart pounding, he rushed over to the bookshelf and pulled out a thick book with a vintage floral cover. His family photo album.

He sits down on the hardwood, and begins to flip through it. It starts off from when he was a toddler, and of course there were no actual baby photos with his completely random backstory. But there was one thing he was searching for and it’s—

Prompto nearly cried with haste as he pulled out the photo from the plastic shell. It’s a picture of his adoptive parents. His dad, with his beige khakis and a blue dress shirt. His mom, with flowing brown locks and a form-fitting dress. And their faces. _Their faces._ Why couldn't he see their faces?

He turned away from the light of the kitchen, to dull the sheen of the photo’s gloss. Now his parent’s faces are covered in shadow. He can’t see them. He turned again. And again. 

There was nothing he could do to reveal their faces. He's tried every photo of them he could find and the results were the same. It's impossible to see what they look like. It's like being in a cartoon, where unimportant characters that simply needed to exist weren't given any sort of features. 

The realization comes to him like shackles, painfully locking into place.

He still wasn’t real.

 

* * *

 

Before they knew it, the days passed. Then weeks. Then months, and years. They went to arcades. Took up part-time jobs for spending money. Trained together with Gladio. Spent too many nights staying up and playing video games. Too many dumb stunts for silly photographs. It was life as it should’ve gone, if Prompto was never an illusion.

Soon, they’re twenty years old all over again and only a few days away from leaving Insomnia. 

And Noctis was bouncing off his apartment’s walls with anxiety.

“We need to give you more training,” Noctis grumbled, walking back and forth on his black fur carpet. “You don’t have as much experience fighting as we do.”

Prompto sighed. He’s been like this for the past month. “I’ll be fine, Noct.”

“And we need to teach you how to get out of all kinds of restraints.”

“Noct. _Calm down_.”

“And, and you should have a map of Niflheim on you at all times,” Noctis paused, but his pacing quickened. “Not just Niflheim. Accordo too. Maybe we can put a tracker on you or something—but that would mean—“ 

“Dude,” Prompto said, incorporating the roll of his eyes into the sass of his voice. “Just. _Chill_. How can anything happen to me when I’m not even real?”

He clamps his mouth shut. What did he just say. _What the hell did he just say??_

He hasn’t really thought about that little bit in _years_.

Noctis rocks to a halt. His eyes are drawn to his, then slowly sink into horror. Like a particularly difficult puzzle was on the cusp of being solved, but just as the answer begins to form, it shapes itself into something forbidden.

It takes a long minute for the word to fall out of his mouth: “...What?”

“U-uh, uhmmm...” Prompto scrambled his brain for an answer. His brain scrambled right back at him and told him he was screwed. “Just, uh, forget I said anything.”

The damage is already done.

“Prom,” Noctis breathes. His chest heaves with every quick intake of air. “Prompto, please, just why—don’t do this to me.”

And Prompto really can’t do this to him. So he explains everything from the start:

“As it turns out… I’m supposed to be the _Crystal_.”

 

* * *

 

“That’s it!” Noctis exclaimed, like he’s found a new recipe. “I’m officially batshit _insane_.”

“No, no you’re good,” Prompto said, hurriedly. “This—this is all my bad, actually. I’m sorry. If never existed, nobody would think you’re crazy.”

Noctis locked his eyes onto his own. “You should never be sorry for existing.”

The words catch Prompto off-guard. It reels him back to the days where he’d catch a younger Noctis, sitting on the edge of the Citadel balcony, eyes cast longingly to the ground. To days where he walks home from school, watching cars go by on residential roads, and speak with his mind: Not fast enough.

The Noctis from the past would never have said that. But there’s something in his chest that seems to lighten when he knows that Noctis has changed.

“Ah—y...yeah. You’re right.” He tries a smile. “But who would’ve known? Your childhood imaginary friend turned out to be a _rock_.”

Noctis’ lips curled upward. “Am I supposed to feel better with that?” 

Prompto shrugged. “Tell me if you find a cooler rock.”

“But why me?” Noctis asked. He collapsed on the couch right next to him. “Why did you pick me? A hundred and thirteen kings, and you chose me out of them all.”

“I dunno,” Prompto said, honestly. He pressed his hands together tightly. “I don’t exactly have all this ancient knowledge off the top of my head. I don’t think I’d be able to handle all that info either... the Crystal’s been around for longer than people know.” 

Prompto’s seen glimmers of it by now. Memories, once out of reach was now a flood behind a dam. The existence known as Prompto Argentum was just a cup shaped by Noctis. A drop compared to a sea and only unique because he was separate. 

“Oh,” Noctis said, breaking him away from thought. “Any guesses?”

It doesn’t take Prompto long to think of a reason, since the words were already said in a long-ago forgotten battle: “Well... You’re my hero, Noct.” He nudged him, grinning mischievously. “That hasn’t changed.”

 

* * *

 

Ten years. Five, reliving high school the way it should’ve gone. Another five, running around Lucis like time didn’t matter and avoiding the boat ride to Altissia where everything goes to shit.

It’s only now that Noctis had the courage to board the boat. 

“I’m proud of you,” Prompto said to the ocean air. The wind tousled his bangs, and sunshine made it gold. “Finally found it in you to get on this boat.”

“Yeah,” Noctis replied. He’s gripping the rail on the boat right next to him, tense but not afraid. “It’s about time, I guess.”

Prompto hummed in approval. Closed his eyes and lifted a hand to his head to suppress some discomfort. He’s felt it since he stepped onto the boat. The feeling of lightness that made his knees weak and unsteady. Even though he’s never been on a boat before, he knew it was a little more than just seasickness. 

“I think...” Prompto began, with words barely audible against the crash of waves. “I think you’re ready. You can take on the world, Noct. The real one. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

Noctis smirked. “Damn right. We’ll take it on together.” Prompto doesn’t reply, and the smile is wiped from his face. “…You _are_ coming, right?” 

It feels like he’s stardust. Part of something whose destination is far beyond reach. A fragment of a wish that, once fulfilled, would fade into the night. 

“The only reason I exist is because you needed me to,” Prompto said, slowly. He turned to him. “You don’t need me anymore.”

“What are you saying?” Noctis shot back. His eyes reflected the turbulence of water. “Of course I do.”

Prompto shook his head. “Your problem was that you always thought you were alone. Even when you actually weren’t.” He breathed in the salty air, letting it reach the depths of his lungs. “And it caused you so much pain. So much, that you... made _me_.”

Noctis opens his mouth at that, lips twitching by the corner ready for some sort of rebuttal against every word that could deny Prompto his existence.

He doesn’t let him speak: “You’ve met so many people along the way. Made so many friends. They all want to help you just as much as you want to help them. And after all this time, battling with things inside your head... I think you finally get that.” 

All this time spent, running aimlessly around Lucis. Fulfilling every person’s request like side-quests to a game, and putting off the inevitable like a sorry excuse for running away from his problems. But the truth was, Noctis loved the world and the people in it.

And the world loved him right back.

“So...” Prompto murmured, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looked away. “You don’t need me anymore.”

“I need you,” Noctis hissed, desperation pooling in his eyes. He grabbed his best friend’s hand. “Prompto. I’ll always need you. I only got this far because you give me strength.”

Prompto almost laughed.

The irony of it all, put so nicely into words.

He gave him one last embrace. He doesn’t know if he’ll feel this warmth again, so he squeezes it—wills it into himself as if some fragment of reality could find its way into him and make him real. His heart yearned for it. So much so that his eyes stung and his stomach ached. 

“I know,” Prompto said to his ear. “Giving you strength is what the Crystal does.”

 

* * *

 

Prompto’s hold doesn’t fade, even when the world is washed away by white. It’s hewn in the tension of his muscles. In the heat of magic within his veins, and in the tightness in his chest.

It lingers.

“Ever at my side, huh?” An older man’s voice left his lips.

When Noctis opens his eyes, the light is gone and he’s sitting in the dark—listening to the crash of waves and feeling the cool of concrete beneath his palms. Everything is calm, save for the beating of his heart.

His dreaming is done.

This is reality.

**Author's Note:**

> Please see my response to the very first comment.  
> You can choose any of the three end-scenes that I couldn't decide on... or you could just leave it as I wrote it. :DD


End file.
